Not a week ago, we castigated and disparaged Roy Hibbert of the Pacers for his foul mouth and foul game.
That was then; this is now.
His Indiana Pacers took the overbearing Heat to the rafters in a game seven. Then, they lost to the odds-on favorites and NBA designated Queens of the Day.
At game’s end, the media and hypocritical fans believe the losers owe their respects to be paid to the overpaid Heatles.
Not Roi Hibbert, the once and future king met the present and perpetual King LeBron. Their meeting on the battlefield did not rival Becket and King Henry II. It did not have the drama of Lee meeting Grant, but seemed more like the answer given by General Anthony McAuliffe who told the Nazis who demanded his surrender during the Battle of the Bulge in 1944, “Nuts.”
Yes, Hibbert said nuts to LeBron James and his gang of dislikeable upstarts. Hibbert went off the court and did not shake hands with the people who wanted his head on a stick.
The purveyors of good sportsmanship, the regular lions of losing, believe you show the back of your neck and beg for mercy when the enemy comes upon you.
Hibbert just said no. It didn’t take a village.
The outsider of the NBA may well take a financial hit again when Stern David fines him for being unsocial in the age of media suckups.
In the meantime we cannot think of a better way to disparage the fake moments of LeBron James than offering him some of McAuliffe’s “nuts.”
If you dislike LeBron James, you owe yourself a chance to read LEBRON JAMES & THE PLAGUE OF SEVEN RINGS, now in softcover and ebook formats on Amazon.com.
When superstars flop, the NBA turns a blind eye.
LeBron James has help in building his legend of being an invincible superstar at the peak of his powers when the referees side with him on every call.
Alas, LeBron seems to be the last one who has caught on to the conspiracy to make him a loveable idol of the NBA.
It may be the NBA’s great misfortune that the best they can come up with as a representative of the high quality character of players is LeBron James.
For years now the league has been building the heroic stature of LeBron James after his disastrous departure from Cleveland to make the NBA more money in Miami.
So, now in the playoffs, the Chicago Bulls, minus their marquee player Derrick Rose, are making a run at the vaunted Miami Heat. And the Heat are staggered that anyone has the temerity to challenge them.
The referees have their marching orders: nothing is to prevent General Sherman LeBron James from marching all the way to the championship. He needs to pick up about six more rings—and the clock is ticking.
As city upon city is alienated from the integrity of the game of basketball as played by the NBA, we begin to wonder who will be left to watch the charade and the parade of LeBron James.
How can we be so naïve to believe that there are not a million gullible fans (mostly children or men with child-like IQs) that will continue to be amazed by the orchestrated bulldozing of LeBron James.
In the meantime, the NBA is leading the chorus as we all sing, “Marching Through Georgia.”
Fans of Mr. James and Dr. Russo should make reading LEBRON JAMES & THE PLAGUE OF SEVEN RINGS required. Available in softcover and e-book on Amazon.com.
The New York Knicks have a macabre sense of humor, with all the players arriving at Madison Square Garden dressed in black. They looked like that little Dickens of a David Copperfield leading a funeral procession.
We almost expected to hear Johnny Cash’s tune, “Man in Black,” instead of a national anthem. We fully believed Tommy Lee Jones would show up with an alien zap gun.
Not to worry, clothes won’t make the winner, though the clothes of the winner may be a shade greener than verdant forest.
Whether the Knicks’ play would match their black hearts, only the minutes ahead would tell.
The Celtics looked like they were ready for the embalmer in the first quarter. They were stiffer than a brick off the backboard. It was Brandon Bass who single-handedly sent the pallbearers back to the hearse.
Like Elizabeth Taylor, the Celtics were ten minutes late for the funeral. Once the procession was underway, the Celtics caught up and ran away from the casket, but Paul Pierce started to look like a man without a eulogy.
Yet, New York’s spring night was similar to one Walt Whitman used to sing about when lilacs in the dooryard bloomed. The Knicks were dribbling Kevin Garnett more like the game were played in a dooryard.
Alas, the Knicks forgot something quite important about that dead as a doornail Celtic in the coffin: you have to put a stake in his heart.
The Celtic vampire has risen from the grave. And, the only garlic in town is on the breath of the Knicks.
Paul Pierce tells media that he is among the unforgiving, and nine months after Ray Allen bailed on the Celtics, he is unforgiven.
When Ray Allen gave his all to the LeBron Follies, Pierce chose to play Clint Eastwood one more time in preparation for the playoffs.
Like the Gunfight at the OK Corral, Kevin Garnett and Paul Pierce will play Earp and Doc Holliday. Clearly the other Earp brother is dead in this makeup. We prefer that scenario than the idea that he bolted his family ties to join Ike Clanton’s boys.
Every time Ray Allen comes to Boston, it is Bad Day at Black Rock, though by the time the Heat leave Boston it feels more like The Alamo.
Pierce has taken on the role of good citizen escorting the mastermind criminal Allen while they are re-enacting 3:10 to Yuma. Though on opposite sides, they remain kindred spirits.
With Rondo out of the game for this season, the shootout between Pierce and Allen feel like The Quick and The Dead without Sharon Stone.
When (and if) the Celtics finally meet the Heat in the penultimate series, they may have about as much chance as young gunfighter Leonardo di Caprio in The Quick and The Dead.
Many think the Celtics will end up with more dead players than the OK Corral in My Darling Clementine, or worse off than Paul Newman as a left-handed gun.
Garnett and Pierce continue to traverse the Great Plains like John Wayne and Jeff Hunter in The Searchers, but they may never find their kidnapped family member. Ray Allen has adopted the native ways of the Miami Heat.
All the Celtics are pointing out the New York Knickerbockers are better than anything seen since Washington Irving penned a few tales about the breed.
When it comes to false modesty, the Celtics take the prize. If the series comes down to smack-talking, the Boston team will win by keeping a golden silence.
Kevin Garnett has promised to keep his cross words and sharp tongue firmly in his cheek.
Yes, the latest rights of braggadocio center on the virtue of praising your opponent. In an age when everything else has been tried, you may as well start spouting the truth. Who knows? Perhaps it will set the Celtics to the free-throw line.
The Celtics don’t have much when it comes to three-pointers unless they take up the three points of Doc Rivers: see no Melo, speak no Melo, and hear no Melo.
All season Carmelo has been a carbuncle when it comes to sticking in the Celtics’ craw.
With all the Knicks knights back from the knell of the DL, the Celtics know that they have about as much chance as the Knights Templar facing the Inquisition.
The Knicks already see the Celtics as nothing more than a knish at midnight. The Green Team may be looking at a knucklier end to the knackers. Arrogant New Yorkers are predicting a knockdown in game four.
If the Celtics find their kneecaps broken by the knave Knicks, then the knowledge may sink them to one knee before half-time knocks the air out of their knarry fate.
The Knicks merely give the world a knockoff version of a champion. And that’s the way you play crossword basketball.